


no photo contents

by thunderylee



Category: NewS (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, M/M, Obsession, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-01-09
Packaged: 2019-01-30 08:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12649869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but the stories they tell aren’t real.





	no photo contents

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck. written for je_holiday 2010.

“I like to take pictures,” Shige tells everyone – the magazines, his friends, his parents, and even himself.

His apartment has a darkroom. It was originally the master bathroom, the toilet hidden by a rectangle-shaped side table and pictures hanging from the shower curtain rod. The bulbs had been replaced with proper lighting, the windows completely blacked out.

In this room, Shige watches his film develop. Scenery and people materialize before his eyes, along with emotions and feelings that may or not be true. He’s not a mind reader, just a photographer capturing moments that don’t exist.

Most of these moments are casual, a stray cat in the wild or two people walking side by side in a busy crowd. Is the cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting prey outside of the frame, or is it just stretching in the grass on a sunny day? Do these two people know each other, and if so, are they friends or lovers? Or maybe friends who want to _become_ lovers…

Shige doesn’t know their stories. So he makes them up. The cat is chasing a bird, a butterfly, or just a leaf. The two people are strangers destined to bump into each other the next second after the frame. Even when Shige is in a foul mood, down or just frustrated, his imagination is hopeful. The cat is a stray but will find a home. The couple had an argument but will make up.

Sometimes he thinks that this is his main source of happiness. He loves to sing and dance and act, even study law to an extent, but those are jobs that require hard work and active thought. Photography is mindless, which is ironic since a majority of his enjoyment is completely in his head.

It started in New York. If Shige were being honest with himself, it had been going on for a long time before that, but he could be stubborn about things like this. About most things, actually, but particularly matters of the heart. Because it was through those pictures that he gave it away.

Two years have passed since then, but the snow still shines in Koyama’s hair on the glossy paper. Shige doesn’t have to look at the picture to know; by now it’s practically engraved in his memory. It wasn’t cold enough for the snow to stick, but that didn’t stop the flurries from falling and causing a lens flare. Sporadic spots surrounded Koyama’s face like an aura made of fireflies, highlighting his features and the hope in his eyes.

The only thing that glowed brighter was Koyama’s smile.

There are many pictures like that one, more than what Koyama had talked him into sharing with the general public. More than Koyama had even seen himself. Shige’s favorite pictures of Koyama are the ones where he doesn’t know he’s being photographed. They litter the walls of his closet behind the rows of clothes that Shige shoves aside when he wants to view them.

He feels like a creeper, but it’s entirely Koyama’s fault. “Take my picture, Shige!” the voice rings clear as day. “Now over here! By the tree! You shoot me so well.”

In a way, Koyama fuels his obsession, praising Shige even if the photo turns out blurry or his thumb is blocking the lens. It’s like he can do no wrong in Koyama’s eyes, and just taking the pictures alone is a gift in itself. Koyama sees them as memoirs of the time they spent together, even if they weren’t doing anything other than being annoying tourists.

If only he knew how Shige sees them. Even though he was there, even though he knows damn well that the hope in Koyama’s eyes was for the children ice-skating nearby, Shige can look at his glossy, inkjetted face and see something else. A different memory, one that could have existed with just a little push, a warped version of the original to go in a different direction.

A fantasy.

It used to bother him, but he has long since accepted it and has even grown to cherish these mental movies wherein the main characters are always himself and Koyama. Sometimes the hope in Koyama’s eyes is just focused on the snow; more often, it’s focused on Shige.

If Shige stares hard enough, Koyama’s eyes will turn towards him.

_“Shige, I have to tell you something,” Koyama’s voice echoes in his mind._

_Concerned, Shige lowers the camera and perches on the wall next to his friend. “You can tell me anything.”_

_“I know.” Koyama turns to face him, staring so deeply into his eyes that Shige feels like his innermost thoughts and feelings are out on display. “I’m so in love with you.”_

It’s not always the snow in New York City. Sometimes it’s on the beach in the sand, backstage at a concert, or in the middle of the mall. While Koyama is driving, talking, or even sleeping. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing, because Shige has mastered the art of turning anything into a confession.

These pictures are just the beginning of the stories that unfold behind Shige’s eyes.

Sometimes there’s not even a confession. There’s a particular picture from someone’s birthday – Yamapi’s? Massu’s? – earlier this year where Koyama is clearly trashed out of his mind. Shige may have been as well since the edges were a little blurry. Koyama is slouched down on the couch as far as he possibly can be without sliding off, staring right at the camera. His eyes were narrower than normal, but what could be seen was dark and intense, a hint of a smirk on his lips that glistened with some kind of moisture.

What happens next in Shige’s mind doesn’t involve any talking. It’s humiliating to admit to, but he’s the only one who knows that Koyama pulls him into his lap, into his mouth and they blend together from there. Shige has started keeping a box of tissues in his closet for this reason, and once he shudders to a still with his hand down his pants, the shame comes flooding back.

It’s a credit to how long he’s been doing this that he can still look Koyama in the eye at work. One thing he’s always been good at is separating fantasy from reality; after all, that’s the whole reason he lets his mind wander in the first place. The real Koyama is completely different from the one in these pictures, even if they started as the same person.

Most of all, the real Koyama isn’t in love with him. The real Koyama likes girls. He wants to get married and have a family someday. He talks about it all the time. He only loves Shige as a friend, his best friend, his partner in comedy. Koyama loves him as much as any man can love another man platonically, and Shige is fine with that. He trusts Koyama, with his life, and that’s all he wants from him. In the real world.

“Hey Shige,” Koyama calls out, jogging up to him after practice and falling into step. “What are you doing next week?”

Shige pictures his schedule in his head, smiling when he remembers that the only obligations on it are work and family. It’s so nice to finally be done with school. “Nothing, unless Yamashita-kun calls a meeting.”

“He won’t – I already cleared this with him,” Koyama says excitedly, grabbing Shige’s arm. “Let’s go to New York City for Christmas!”

“Christmas?” Shige repeats. “We can’t go for Christmas. We have to work. We _always_ work on Christmas, Kei.”

Koyama heaves a teasing sigh. “I didn’t mean Christmas _Day_ , Shige. But we don’t have to start rehearsing until mid-December.”

“That’s next week,” Shige points out. “Well, eight days away.”

“Which is eight days we can spend in New York!” Koyama declares. “Come on, Shige, be spontaneous.”

“I-” Shige starts, then blinks when all he can think of to say is, “I have to pack.”

He cringes from the piercing level of Koyama’s cheer as the elder man grabs Shige by both shoulders and gives him a firm shake, then takes off in the opposite direction.

“Don’t forget your camera!” Koyama hollers over his shoulder. “I want you to take a lot of pictures like the last time!”

Shige’s already looking forward to it. Truth be told, Koyama is a bit of a camera whore. If he could figure out how to take decent pictures of himself with his own phone, his J-web would be a never-ending stream of them.

New York City is as bustling and glamorous as ever, the streets and sidewalks filled with people of all colors, tongues, and trends. Koyama is just as enamored as he was the first time they were here, practically spinning in circles as he tries to absorb everything at once.

Shige watches him through the viewfinder, snapping a few shots even though he knows they’ll end up blurred by the quick motion. Not for the first time, he wishes that it was clear enough to take sequence pictures, because Koyama’s natural animation is often lost in a still.

At Rockefeller Center, Koyama spins to a stop in front of the infamous tree. The bright lights and decorations override his facial features at first, but Shige clicks a few settings and adjusts his focus to see him clearly. He’s staring right at Shige and Shige’s heart flops at the emotion in Koyama’s eyes, twinkling along with the lights. Something else that usually isn’t carried over.

Right now, Shige feels like he’s in some kind of limbo between reality and the universe he’s created for them in his head. It’s different than just taking pictures on a whim, looking through his own eyes and deciding when to lift the camera to capture the scene; the distorted glass feels like a barrier between the two worlds, making Shige reluctant to lower it at all.

He photographs Koyama for four days, going through several rolls of film and a few pairs of batteries. He doesn’t need to see the end results with the scenes still clear in his mind, flipping through his memory like a photobook as he lays down to sleep after a long day of sight-seeing.

Well, Koyama saw a lot of sights. All Shige saw was Koyama.

He really shouldn’t be slipping into his imagination with Koyama in the same room, but he can’t stop it. It’s all too much and he’s too far gone to do anything but permit the flood of possibilities behind his eyes, curling up in his covers and facing away from Koyama’s bed to fully indulge. At least they don’t have to share this time.

Koyama in front of the tree, Koyama posing with the mannequins in the window displays, Koyama staring out at the river – it doesn’t matter where they are anymore, or what the pretense is, it always comes down to Koyama’s meaningful look and _I’m so in love with you_. It just makes him sad now, to follow the events after because each word, each interaction is a fierce reminder that it’s not real.

Unlike in the sanctity of his closet, the pull from the real Koyama across the room is too strong. Instead of the usual warmth that accompanies these what-if stories, Shige feels _guilty_ for thinking of him like that. Somehow it feels like exploiting his friendship, or even lying to him. Koyama’s close proximity seems to keep the logic firmly nestled in his brain, constantly reminding him of his delusion and the improbability of it ever coming true.

Shige’s not even sure if he wants it to come true at this point. Nothing is as perfect as it is in a vision. If it were to happen for real, as farfetched as that may be, something would undoubtedly happen to ruin it. And then his cherished friendship would be ruined too.

This realization makes for quite a depressing last few days. Shige leaves the camera at the hotel, claiming he has more than enough pictures and his neck hurts from carrying it around all day. He looks through his own eyes, seeing all the tourist attractions and decorations as they are without any internal alteration.

Koyama is still glowing. He’s also concerned, asking Shige forty-one times if he feels all right, if he ate something weird, if he wants to go back to the hotel and nap. After Shige makes the mistake of mentioning his neck pain, Koyama instantly ushers them over to a bench and lifts his hand to the top of Shige’s spine, all four fingers and a thumb working to release tension Shige didn’t even know he had.

Koyama touching him is almost equivalent to touching himself. Shige has to fight to stop his line of thought from going in that direction, which becomes harder and harder as Koyama uses more force. He chokes on a moan and lifts his head, pasting on his winning idol smile as he politely tells Koyama that he’s fine now.

He expects the other man to hop right back up and continue dragging Shige around Central Park, but Koyama’s eyes sharpen and Shige knows that he’s busted.

“I think we should leave tomorrow,” is all Koyama says, and Shige agrees.

That night, Shige spends a long time staring at himself in the bathroom mirror at the hotel. The mirror is big enough to reflect the entire room, including the lights, and it’s so much that Shige can’t even focus on his own face without getting distracted.

A soft knock sounds on the door, and without thinking Shige mutters, “Come in.”

Slowly the door opens and Koyama’s face peeks in. He looks relieved that Shige’s standing at the sink, fully clothed, and Shige finds it easier to look at him in the mirror. “Sorry, did you need to get in here?”

Koyama just shakes his head. He’s acting a little strange, and Shige sees why once he steps all the way into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. In his hand is Shige’s camera.

“What are you doing with that?” Shige asks, suddenly terrified like all of his secrets will be revealed if Koyama looks through it.

But Koyama just holds it out for him to take, their fingers brushing as Shige carefully lifts the strap. He takes the camera in both hands, meeting Koyama’s eyes in the mirror and frowning in confusion at Koyama’s uncharacteristically blank expression.

“You seem more comfortable when you’re looking through it,” Koyama says. He’s speaking quietly, but his voice still seems to echo off the tile.

“I’m okay,” Shige replies, swallowing visibly.

Koyama’s eyes are warm as his reflection becomes larger. “What do you see when you look through it?”

“What? Nothing,” Shige replies quickly. “I mean, nothing different. It’s just a camera.”

Koyama doesn’t look convinced as he leans against the counter and folds his arms. He’s shoulder-to-shoulder with Shige, his back against the mirror, and Shige can’t see his face unless he actually leans back and _looks at him_.

Instinctively, he lifts up the camera and turns towards Koyama. He doesn’t need to zoom to clearly see Koyama’s long eyelashes, nor the narrow eyes that cut towards him and crinkle with amusement.

“Do you like me better this way?”

Shige lowers the camera, but the scene remains the same. Koyama staring at him, a hurt expression on his face, and Shige’s shaking his head before he fully processes the question.

“Shige,” Koyama says, looking down at where he’s playing with his fingers. “I don’t mind at all that you like to take pictures of me, but it’s worrisome when you won’t even look at me without a piece of glass separating us.”

“Sorry,” Shige mutters. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Koyama takes a deep breath, leans his head back, and closes his eyes. “Pictures are misleading anyway, aren’t they? They’re just snapshots of a memory. The events leading up to and following could be anything.”

Shige stares at him, taking in the long stretch of his throat and the jumping of his Adam’s apple as he speaks. “Did I say something in my sleep?” he finally asks.

The corners of Koyama’s lips turn up into a smile, followed by a few short laughs. “Not that I recall. Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Isn’t it okay to have that kind of ambiguity?” Shige replies, his heart racing. “In the pictures, I mean. That ‘anything is possible’ feeling makes it more intriguing, don’t you think?”

“In regular photographs, sure,” Koyama agrees easily. “But not with pictures of people you know.”

Shige gently puts down the camera, braces himself with both hands on the counter, and hangs his head. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”

“You can tell me anything, you know,” Koyama says, a hint of desperation to his voice. Shige hates himself a little for it. “Anything at all.”

“I know,” Shige assures him. “I guess I just like pretending that things are different.”

“Like when ordinary people pretend that they’re rich and famous?” Koyama asks, and the irony isn’t wasted on Shige. “Why does it matter how you physically look at it?”

“It matters because I’m with you.”

The atmosphere lightens considerably, the tension dispersing despite Shige’s nerves on edge as he waits for Koyama’s reaction. He can hear the older man breathing evenly, unmoving, and it’s comforting and troubling at the same time.

Finally Koyama speaks, and he sounds just as nervous as Shige feels. “What happens? When you look at me through the camera, who do you see?”

“I see you,” Shige answers honestly. “You’re still you, and I’m still me. Things are just different.”

“Are we still idols?” Koyama asks.

Shige thinks about this. He never imagines them actually working. “No.”

“Friends?”

“Yes.”

“Lovers?”

Shige says nothing. His silence is worse than the truth, he knows, so he mumbles, “Not at first.”

He hears Koyama licking his lips and stares hard at the faucet. There’s a hint of reflection in the metal, but it’s not enough to provide any comfort.

“What happens?” Koyama prods. “Just tell me.”

“It depends on the picture,” Shige explains, his voice surprisingly steady. “Usually you’re already looking at me, so the next step is that you… confess.”

“ _I_ confess,” Koyama repeats, focusing on the subject. “Why not you?”

Shige gives a short laugh. “I suppose I’m not brave even in my own imagination.”

Koyama inhales again. “How do I say it?”

“This is really -”

“ _Tell me_ ,” Koyama insists, using a commanding tone Shige hasn’t heard before.

It makes him spill it all at once. “First you say you have to tell me something, then you sit next to me and say…”

Koyama waits a few seconds before prompting. “And say…”

“‘I am so in love with you’,” Shige rushes out in one breath. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Come on,” Koyama cuts him off, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the bathroom.

“Kei, what are you-” Shige starts, then gets interrupted by his own coat being flung in his face.

Koyama’s face is lit up more than the twinkling lights outside. “Let’s go.”

It’s hard to shrug into his coat as Koyama drags him down the hallway, across the lobby, and through the crowds of people still populating the streets of New York City. He finds the building where the lights bounce off in snowflake patterns and poses in front of it, looking expectantly at Shige.

“Is here good?”

Shige blinks. “I didn’t bring my camera.”

“You don’t need it,” Koyama tells him, his face relaxing into a warm smile that seems to relax Shige as well. “Shige, I need to tell you something.”

Alarms go off in Shige’s mind, but all he can do is stand there like he’s frozen to the spot. “Kei, don’t-”

“I’m not saying anything I shouldn’t have said years ago,” Koyama says firmly as he jogs up to Shige and looks him right in the eye. “I am so in love with you.”

Shige just gapes at him, the reality of the situation hitting him like a bucket of cold water because this is _real_. This is really Koyama confessing to him in New York City and it feels completely different than every time he’s imagined it, the chill of the wind in contrast to the warmth in his heart from Koyama’s words and the intentions behind them.

And it’s really Koyama kissing him, grabbing him by the face and pressing their lips together. His grip is shaky at first and Shige realizes that Koyama is scared out of his mind, which is what he tells himself is the main reason for throwing his arms around Koyama’s neck and kissing him back with everything he has.

All around them, snow starts to fall.


End file.
